Sherlock Smirked
by Maura Manette
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is well aware of John's ever-growing weakness for him, and even indulges in teasing John indirectly. John is as lost in interpreting his feelings, and continually shuns any possibility of affection. How will their relationship build?
1. Chapter 1: TeaserPreface

Sherlock Smirked.

As he coaxed his bow to caress the pleasantly vibrating strings of his violin, Sherlock smirked.

"What?" John looked up from the point he was concentrating on the floor. His forearm raised to a ninety degree angle, hand relaxed so that his fingertips gently brushed his palm, his thumb supporting his first finger - a perfect balance all resting against his forehead.

Sherlock smirked and continue to make his violin moan along to Chopin, the crooning hum of the strings enveloping the room in a warm, misty atmosphere.

Sherlock had been smirking at John. His soldier, his blogger - so consumed by the music. John had his eyes fixed on the space under Sherlock's eye and above his cheekbone. It was just where Sherlock's face began an exponential slope up to the protruding peak of his cheek's facial structure. Sherlock knew this was John's favorite spot on his face. John's eyes found it always when they had nowhere else to look.

Sherlock had been smirking because John had let his lips part for a gentle tug of air, his chest rising higher than usual and holding that point as his tongue cautiously and subconsciously slide out from between his lips, barely far enough to dampen his lower – only the point that the top would cover when his mouth was shut. He let his tongue gently pull it back in his mouth so that his front two teeth caught it, brushing it lightly as it slipped back to its original position. John's blue-with-a-hint-of-grey irises retracted so that his pupils had room to expand ever so slightly.

Sherlock smirked because he wondered how long John would continue to deny himself.

John exhaled loudly through his nose and rubbed his eyes. "Right. Forgot. This is one of those time periods where you don't know how to use your tongue."

"I can use my tongue very well, thank you." Sherlock retorted. John replied with a suspicious glare, his eyes drifting down to the slope of Sherlock's cheek briefly before he caught himself.

Sherlock smirked, knowing John would be selectively deaf to his provocative insinuation.

"Oh."


	2. Chapter 2: Rock and Metal

John shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable because of Sherlock's surprising will to speak after remaining silent for the past two days. It wasn't that John had forgotten he wasn't speaking and was taken by surprise by the sound of his voice, but it was the particular sound his voice made. Sherlock had spoken to John in his low, enticing voice, but it had mingled and harmonized slightly with the moaning violin. This sound made something shift in his head, something that shouldn't have been shifted. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't something he should feel in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh." He said aloud, not sure whether it was a response to his flatmate or a thought that had broken the mind-to-mouth barrier.

John forced his mind to stop right there, before having any questionable thoughts. He shifted tracks to think of his girlfriend while simultaneously standing.

"Right. Well… erm…" _Think!_ "Mary is going to come over for dinner tonight; she really wants to meet you even though I've warned her it's a bad idea, so… erm… Don't- just don't be to awful, ok?"

_Yes, because you're a complete arse to everyone and I need a girlfriend to keep me sane._ As soon as he thought this, John realized not only that it was false, but it made him feel a pang of guilt for forcing himself to think that way.

"Who's Mary?"

John stared blankly at the wall, not sure if Sherlock had actually asked that question or if it was the dormant schizophrenic part of him reassuring his brain that yes, Sherlock is an arse. John grew slightly irritated. "She's my girlfriend. We've been going out for the past year and a half."

The gentle sounds of the violin stopped abruptly, the warm sound dissipating and an icy chill of tension created a bridge between them, first starting at John's end, then coming from Sherlock. Both were hurt, but only John shown it.

"A year and a half? You hardly like to keep a girlfriend for more than a month or two John." Sherlock scoffed.

The pain turned to desperation and John walked towards Sherlock, a small hint of a plea in his eye. "Yes, but… the thing is…" Sherlock raised one eyebrow in bemusement. "I dunno, Sherlock. I wanted to know if you could… well if you could tell me what you can find out about her – not in front of her though… just… you know." He shrugged off the end of his sentence.

The second eyebrow rose to meet the first one now, and Sherlock suddenly disappeared from sight, instrument still in hand. In another frighteningly quick moment, he swept back into the room, buried his violin and bow back in his case, and unclenched his right hand.

As each spidery finger lifted, John's stomach shrunk and twisted, knotting itself in the pit of his torso. Again, he was uncomfortable, guilty, and even sad as he gazed down at the black, velvet box.

What Sherlock said next, John did not expect in the slightest. From any other person it would be normal and he would answer accordingly, saying what was expected. But from Sherlock, he would never have guessed the man's ability to understand sentimental depth – it startled him to the very core, rendering him incapable of answering as he knew he was supposed to.

"Do you love her?"

"Sorry, what?"

Sherlock glanced at him once over, deducing every aspect of John, handing the box to his jolted blogger. "You don't." He sounded grave.

"Wha- yes I do! I just need your help-" John grabbed Sherlock's arm as he moved away, forcing him to turn around and stare deeply into John's unsaturated blue eyes "- please."

It was now Sherlock's turn to feel a slight pang of discomfort, knowing he may have to lie to John if the circumstances were not in his favor – he couldn't let John marry her.

"Of course."

John unwillingly smiled to himself as Sherlock stormed from the room. For an absolute genius, John wasn't sure how he couldn't have known that his blue dress robe was inappropriate for a dinner.

The weight of the box in his pocket was unbelievable. A rock on a ring, that's all it was. A nicely sized diamond on a band of silver. Simple. Elegant. But the weight of it was not only rock and metal, it was the rest of his life, the rest of Mary's life, the changes he would have to make to accommodate to married life, the slight distancing with all his friends, with Sherlock especially.

He had spent two or three nights a week at Mary's apartment typically, but he was sure Sherlock never noticed he was gone. But if he was gone all the time, what would happen to his best friend? Who would be there to snatch the cigarette or needle from his hands if John wasn't around? Who would make sure he eats, sleeps, and stays reasonably behaved? John's gut told him no one. Sherlock denies any and all direct assistance from Mycroft, Greg's blood pressure would skyrocket, Molly would be driven to tears within an hour, and Mrs. Hudson would be too easily persuaded to leave Sherlock be. John, apparently, was the only person who could tolerate Sherlock for an extended period of time, and Sherlock was almost decent with John there to keep him in check. John couldn't disrupt the balance between them, he was certain that Sherlock would go off the deep end and his heart told him he wouldn't fair well either.

The weight in his pocket was divided. It was a choice. Mary or Sherlock?

John stood and creaked up the stairs to his bedroom, hiding the ring safely in a drawer. _I can always return it_. His heart told his head meekly. Stunned, he thought of what Sherlock said earlier. _Do I love her?_ John thought of her white, crooked smile, her light blue eyes and the creases that formed there when she laughed. _Of course I do. I'm being daft_. But still his heart dragged its hypothetical feet in the face of making that decision, unsure and slow.

There was a strong knock on the door as John came to this conclusion. Silencing any further thoughts, he calmly walked downstairs only to see Sherlock in his nice purple shirt taking Mary's coat for her and being nothing short of chivalrous. John stared at the pair in shock.

"Oh come on now John, you know staring is rude" Sherlock said with a devious smile. His mood was not brightened by meeting Mary, but it did change from miserable and confounded to devilishly satisfied.

Mary was thin and almost lanky, though not very tall. She had dark hair that fell in loose curls and waves just past her shoulders, her nose long and slightly more wide than average, leaning to the left just enough for Sherlock to notice. Her lips were supple, plump, and naturally a light shade of pink with a hint of purple, but she hid the hue under colored gloss. Mary's facial structure was angular – a strong (but not masculine) jaw, high but soft cheekbones. Her eyebrow hairs were thin and dark, but the total shape still on the thicker side even after waxing them. Her ears pierced once each, but with an old healed hole in her left cartilage. She was pale in color, though not completely pallid. Her eyes were almond shaped, long eyelashes that hardly had any curl in them, and a light blue-green color, which really looked grey from afar.

She was a female version of Sherlock Holmes, which somehow satisfied his distress.


End file.
